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He fought against the wind for a moment, waited to hear more from the voice, but the voice had ceased.
He made his choice.
He stepped forward and the sulfur wind pulled him to the space behind the rock and Skarde stepped through.
The space was dark and dank and there were a million screams filling his head and the wind kept pulling Skarde along, but soon there was light reaching his eyes and Skarde had the impression that he wasn’t going into a cave, but just going around the rock and out the other side.
And he stepped through the crack and into the light, expecting to be on the other side of the rock.
He was. But nothing looked the same.
There was snow on the ground where there wasn’t snow before.
There were trees, pine and birch.
There was a stream.
Beyond the stream, where there couldn’t physically be an ocean, was an ocean. Churning waves. Above that, dark clouds that sent out forks of lightning that struck the surface.
And this world was a red world.
The leaves on the trees were red.
The stream was red.
The ocean was red.
The lightning was red.
It was a beautiful bleeding world.
The noaidi stood in front of him as before, ever stoic, ever silent, and raised a hand to point to the distance. Skarde noticed the hand didn’t have the mittens anymore. The hand was human, and it was only bone. A living skeleton. And then Skarde knew there was no face under that mask, that it wasn’t a mask at all.
But he was no longer afraid.
And he followed the skeleton finger as it pointed to a castle in the distance made of crumbling stone, a sprawling, decaying place.
Skarde started walking to the castle, but the noaidi stayed behind by the rock. Perhaps guarding it, perhaps because this was something that Skarde had to do on his own.
Skarde walked along the crimson river. At times he was certain it was actual blood flowing, like he was following an artery of some giant beast. Other times, it looked like red-tinted water. Sometimes he saw hands poking through the surface, and if he looked too closely, he saw faces too.
He followed the river as it led him toward the ocean shore and the castle, and as he approached, he saw two people on horseback set off from the crumbling entrance, coming toward him. There was something about them that was off-putting, like the horses didn’t move the way they should, or didn’t seem quite right, even at a distance.
But as the horses got closer, Skarde saw what was so strange about them.
They were made of bone and metal and stone.
A crimson mane and tail of twigs and leaves.
Fire that leaked from their nostrils.
And above them sat cloaked men with no faces, only dark space beneath the hoods.
They were his escorts, waiting patiently for Skarde to approach them before the faceless men turned their horses around, one on either side of Skarde, leading him to the castle.
Skarde kept glancing at the horses as they walked beside him at an uneven pace, at their hooves of iron, their skeleton legs of copper intertwined with muscle and veins. Smoke leaked from the horses’ eye sockets and mouths, nostrils that belched flames. With each hit of their iron hooves on the ice-crusted snow, sparks shot out.
Eventually they reached the castle and, up close, Skarde could see it was just ruins. Inside everything was red and black and soulless.
The horses and their riders stayed out front, guarding the entrance, and Skarde stepped inside, the stone flooring beneath his feet uneven, snow and red leaves blown inside the cavernous, cold room, making it look like it was splattered with blood.
Come forward, the voice said again. It came from the darkness at the back of the castle, where the room disappeared into a void. Come forward and claim your throne.
Skarde hesitated, then stepped forward, stopping where the light started to fade into black. It seemed as thick as tar and he had the notion that if he stepped forward, inky hands would drag him in.
“A throne?” Skarde asked into the void. “My throne?”
The voice said nothing.
“Where am I?” Skarde went on.
You are in the Red World, the voice said. This will be your world, once you claim your throne. There are many worlds, many layers, of which you will discover, places you can go that no humans will be able to go. Some of these places you will be able to create yourself. This is one of them.
The way the voice said humans gave Skarde a pause.
“Are you not human?” he asked.
The voice let out a mirthless laugh. I am not. And soon, neither will you be. You will become something else. One with the darkness, one with the madness, one with the power of eternal life, a power you can grant to others, to make them just like you. The power and control of blood.
